


Weight on the Air

by hellscabanaboy



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Bondage, F/M, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:33:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6508756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellscabanaboy/pseuds/hellscabanaboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not the first time she has played watch like this over Balthier's ventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weight on the Air

"Should you find in this not what you sought, I would hear it at once." The voice of the so-called sky pirate Reddas sounds clear beyond closed door and bare hallway, to the sharpness of Fran's ears. "I will not put you unwilling anywhere you do not freely go."

"And surely you've realized by now that I wouldn't go unwilling? But of course." Balthier's own voice trips already too fast for its usual springing beat, words the replacement for the shirt she hears slip to the floor atop its leather kin. "Have no concern for your honor; I'll not let this go further than I'd choose."

A promise of careful words and implications, and yet he means it. Or rather he means to mean it, and this is why Fran is here. Why she allows free rein to the acuteness of her senses, rather than striving to avoid the knowledge as hume courtesy would have her do. It is not the first time she has played watch like this over Balthier's ventures; and neither would it be the first she had intervened, should it come to that.

She hopes not to interfere tonight, if she might stay; not with a partner of such particular choosing. That this Reddas has not always been thus, she knows from the tightness of Balthier's jaw when they had spoken, the mere instant's forbearance. What else he might be, she has no need to know. It is enough that Balthier has sought him out willingly, and that he responds in understanding as well as desire.

The clank of metal on metal is unfamiliar to her. Deafening in the stillness. And to Balthier as well, it would seem; arousal always quickens the hume heartbeat, as though their very bodies were too much for them, but his sounds a drumbeat in his veins, breath drawn and stopped and drawn again before he speaks. 

"Ah, you've come prepared, I see." Quick and edgy beneath the sound, the scraping over the floor "Chains your pleasure, are they? Wouldn't ropes be a bit more, ah, piratical?"

"And had you come to me as a pirate, perhaps I would make use of them." Soft mocking in the voice, but the sound stops, gives way to the heartbeat scurrying as a creature seeking cover. "Have you an objection?"

Voice carried on a breath, though perhaps no one but her would have noticed, and its owner least of all. "Nothing of the kind," Balthier says. "I asked you to restrain me, did I not? Had I meant any further specification, I would have--"

His gasp is from the cold of chains on skin first and foremost. The rest will seep through him as he is bound, as instinct leads him to struggle and struggle avails him none. The clank of the chain in its motion is muffled in his skin, followed by the sweep of Reddas' own hand, cry of response caught up at the back of his throat. But she breathes, deep and eager, and the scent of his desire sharpens the air. 

This, Fran cannot give him. Not for her is it to bring loathing in the hand of tenderness; were he to run from her, she could not but let him go. And yet he seeks it with the same heart that leads him to her, and thus as much her partner as ever he has been. That she might know who he is when he is at another's hand is a privilege born of trust - that she might enjoy him, an unlooked-for delight.

"You're very -- thorough, I must say." His voice skitters over the constraint of metal, betrays the tension of his throat and chest. Laced with need like sunlight filtering through, and that's what prompts her reach a hand between her own legs, bare pressure scant relief through the thickness of leather. "I never knew it to take such care, _willingly_ to render me helpless."

"Better to act with forethought now than to wish for it later." Hands gentle, chains slow, and she knows not how thoroughly his body is laden now, only that the thrust of his hips brings with it a chorus of metal, and from his cry nothing of relief. "That you seek this now does not mean you will yet want what you find."

To be weighted down does not suit him. He takes it harder, she thinks, than he ever has with ropes - or perhaps with less shrewd partners, who knew not what they handled. It is in its own way enthralling. Each gasp longing mingled in fear until even Fran cannot truly tell them apart, and even as she rocks into her hand she notes each falter in him, gauges how far he might be brought.

"So you have said. If you say again, I shall think it is I who have dragged you unto this unwilling." Mocking, this; even unfamiliar with his scent Fran can tell it is not so. And yet even the sound of his movements is close and controlled, as though he bore up beneath the same weight he lays upon Balthier. "And _I_ say do your worst, old man, and have it done with."

"Knew you my worst, you would forbear to seek it." Swiftness, and then again the sound. She knows not what vital part of him has just been claimed, only that metal sounds now over metal as much as on flesh. She does know the timbre of the cry he lets out, though before her it is lighter and longer and languid. This pleases her, enough to reach beneath her leathers, earthy scent of her own arousal mixing with that on the air. "You chase after that which you do not understand, and until it is upon you heed not the effect."

"Ah--I can't deny." With her his words still sooner, give way to the honesty of sigh and breath. Here he will speak until speech has surrendered meaning, his last weapon held fast until it is powerless against any but himself. Pulling against the chain, all his muscles tensed as though in all its futility he might in truth make for flight. And hers along with him, though she judges it were worse to interrupt them, now. "The pirate, charging in to take what is to be had - a trait of mine, I confess."

"A trait of your people." Words each one as heavy as the chain. "Handed down to you."

The chains are sufficient to hold him for the seconds his struggle lasts. A cacophony of steel, and no change in their effect. Hands across his skin still him yet - she hears the brush against his hair, the moment he once again slumps in his bonds. A prison of flesh as well as metal, and this, she thinks, he accepts.

The pirate takes Balthier at his word. Holds him yet, makes no indication of letting him up. Only his questions crowd about the edge of the silence, demanding still.

"I've come this far, running," says Balthier at last. "Where else might I stop, if not here?"

A hum of acknowledgment. Their bodies coming together again, and Fran allows herself to relax at last. This, they might play out as far as it takes them - and she yet only too pleased to witness.


End file.
